


Jealousy

by cirnelle



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 18:21:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8456959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cirnelle/pseuds/cirnelle
Summary: “Jealous?” asked Illya sardonically.
“Of you?” said Napoleon. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I don’t think I’m the one who’s being ridiculous,” muttered Illya.





	

 

Napoleon sighed with relief, brushing a sweaty lock of hair off his forehead as he finally finished trussing up the last unconscious T.H.R.U.S.H. henchman in the room. He checked the knots one last time, then turned around to see his partner helping Miss Bridgette Gray, the lovely young movie starlet who had inadvertently gotten involved in their mission, down from the top of the cabinet she’d been trapped on during the earlier rounds of gunfire.

After helping Bridgette down, her hand still in his, Illya bent his head and gallantly touched his lips to Bridgette’s hand before releasing her. She giggled, blushed, then coyly sidled closer to him. Illya looked at her, expressionless, not encouraging but not particularly _discouraging_ , either. She was getting closer, and Illya... _wasn’t moving away_. Bridgette rose up on her tiptoes, and –

Without any conscious memory of actually _moving_ , Napoleon suddenly found himself standing between Illya and Bridgette. Both of them were staring at him, Bridgette with puzzlement, and Illya with a mildly suspicious air.

He cleared his throat and put on his most charming smile. “Let’s get you looked over by our medics, Bridgette,” he said, taking her gently but firmly by the arm. “Just to make sure that you’re all right, of course. Shock can be such an insidious thing.” He steered her over to the corner of the room where the newly-arrived U.N.C.L.E. medics were waiting, which just happened to be the furthest possible corner from where Illya was standing. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Illya staring at him with a narrowed gaze.

Leaving a bemused Bridgette in the care of the U.N.C.L.E. medics, Napoleon made his way back to his partner, carefully picking his way over the prone bodies of a few unconscious T.H.R.U.S.H. agents.

“Really, Illya,” he said, slinging a companionable arm across his partner’s shoulders. “I did all the work for this mission, I should at least get the first shot at asking Bridgette for a date.”

Illya snorted. “Ask you to tie a few knots, and I end up hearing about it for the rest of the week.”

“Hey, it was hard work tying all those guys up,” protested Napoleon, waving a hand at the T.H.R.U.S.H. bodies strewn haphazardly on the ground. “While you and Bridgette were doing... _whatever_ it is you were doing.”

“Jealous?” asked Illya sardonically.

“Of you?” said Napoleon. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I don’t think _I’m_ the one who’s being ridiculous,” muttered Illya.

“What?”

“Nothing,” said Illya, rolling his eyes heavenward. “And if you _must_ know,” he added acidly, “Miss Gray was safely on the top of that cabinet over there while I was busy shooting our T.H.R.U.S.H. friends with sleep darts so that you could tie them up.”

“Very helpful of you,” said Napoleon, and ignored the twinge of something that felt strangely like relief. “Anyway. I’ll show her a wonderful time tonight on our date. Which I am going to ask her for. Er. Yes. Right now.”

“Really,” said Illya blandly. “And where is your lovely lady now?”

Napoleon blinked, having rather forgotten about the lady in question while he'd been focused on his partner. Looked toward the medics, who were packing up their gear. Looked around the rest of the room.

Bridgette, who was evidently fine and not suffering from shock in the least, was being lovingly ushered out of the room by the entirety of the U.N.C.L.E. cleanup team, who, men and women both, were all clambering over each other to smile adoringly at her and ask for her autograph.

“Oh,” Napoleon said lamely.

No chance of getting Bridgette alone to ask for a date now. Napoleon considered this thought. Somehow, he wasn’t upset about it. At all, actually. _Why_ wasn’t he upset? When he'd seen Bridgette about to kiss Illya earlier, he'd...well, he'd definitely felt _something_ , and it hadn't been a _good_ kind of something. Napoleon frowned, then looked over at Illya, who was watching him knowingly, amusement and affection clear in his blue eyes, and somehow, Napoleon was suddenly finding it difficult to meet his partner's gaze.

“I, er – ”

“Mm,” said Illya and sailed serenely out of the room, leaving Napoleon with the uncomfortable feeling that he’d just missed something important. Grumbling to himself, he picked his jacket up and trailed out of the room after his partner. He’d persuade Illya to tell him what he’d missed later.

 

 

End.

 

**Author's Note:**

> There's now a loose sequel to this piece: [The Mysterious Date Affair](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10741500).


End file.
